Windowsill
by frankiebaby
Summary: Pregnant with her first child, Amy March finds out what it's like to be second in her husband's life-- and finds comfort in an unexpected place. Expanded to give Jo and Laurie's view. Please review; I'd love to hear what you think!
1. Chapter 1

"Laurie!" cried Amy, her voice ringing through the empty hall.

Where _was _her husband?

Dragging her arm across her forehead to wipe away the sweat that had collected there, Amy Lawrence sank to her haunches with an exhausted sigh, then looked down at the floor, ten feet below her—and at the ladder that had slid to the ground.

Currently, the elegant Mrs. Amy Curtis March was far from her usual flawless form; she was tired, dirty, hot and thirsty. It was a fine Friday evening in June, Plumfield would open its doors to the public for the first time to-night, and Amy—

Amy was currently stuck on a window-sill.

It seemed sensible at the time, climbing up to fix the tulle drapery herself; after all, she had supervised the decorating of the big dining-room and the workers were gone for the day, leaving Plumfield's new owners to prepare alone for the celebration that night.

This was to be strictly a grown-up event, mainly for their sponsors and parents of incoming students—the children would not arrive till the term started next week. Amy felt a familiar shot of pride at what her sister had done, despite her current position on the windowsill; Jo was living her dream now, and Amy could wish her nothing but happiness.

Well, happiness, and… standing on firm ground. She bit her lip between small white teeth and focused on the ceiling, trying not to look down, for when she did, she grew dizzy. And here, in her condition…

Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her middle, protecting the little secret she'd kept safe there for the past two weeks. She had wanted to be sure, and now she was; a covert visit to the old, kindly Dr. Bangs had proven her suspicions true. But she hadn't told Laurie, and with good reason, she thought; she was unwilling to take the spotlight from her sister, and some little, selfish bit of herself admitted to wanting to be the only focus when the news came out. She hoped, deep inside her, that it was a girl; a beautiful, perfect, angelic girl, that would draw her father to their side, that he would fall in love with completely, totally.

Amy carefully lowered herself to the sill, resting her chin on her hands and willing both her head and stomach to calm; and unbiddingly, her eyes filled with hot, sudden tears. She wiped them away, angrily; who was she to cry? How could she? She was married to a man she adored, she had a wonderful trip abroad to remember for the rest of her life; she was every inch the elegant woman she'd always wanted to be, a Lady Bountiful that was the head of a social circle she had brought her family back into, single-handedly…

And yet…and yet!

It was Jo, she thought with a rueful smile. Jo with her authorship, Jo with her school, Jo with her strength and loyalty and an aristocratically wild, wild beauty that had bloomed late, but was undoubtedly there. The angles had softened; the grey eyes were the focus of a decided face that was alive with character; the chestnut hair, as unruly as ever, was the perfect crown. Atalanta was fully formed, and though she had been caught, she would never be tamed. Amy faded in comparison, more than she ever had as a child; and once again, she felt the curse of the youngest—shoved aside, but now an adult, so unable to resort to the petty jealousies and bids for attention of yesteryear.

She wished she could be like Beth, she thought with a sigh; to be satisfied with goodness alone; but she could not, and for one awful, wicked moment, wondered what life with Fred Vaughn would have been like, in a foreign country, without the goodness of the Marches to live up to, without her sister's constant presence…..

Amy squelched the horrible thought quickly, looking around as if the walls could read her mind. "I love Jo, and Laurie does too, as a sister," she said determinedly; but her eyes fell on the clock; it had been twenty minutes since they had left her here, and there was no sign…

"Don't think of that," she ordered herself; and in the next moment braced her hands at her side, preparing to angle herself to jump. The fall wasn't _quite _that steep, she reasoned with herself; Jo and Laurie had taken wilder tumbles when they were younger, tumbling off of barn roofs and such; and she was barely with child; it couldn't do any harm. She would jump; and if she sprained her ankle, then she at least had an excuse to stay home tonight, to hide her face. Smiling wryly, she pulled her skirts clear of her feet and---

"Frau Amy!"

Amy jumped, startled out of her skin at the booming voice in the room; then, her face was suffused with color as Mr. Bhaer's large frame appeared in the doorway, and he hurried inside. He looked nothing short of shocked at her position in the window; and if Amy were not so embarrassed, dirty and tired, she would have laughed herself.

In any event, she did the exact opposite. "Oh, Mr. Bhaer," she cried, extending her arms. "I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life!"

"It is Fredrich to you," he reminded her, hurrying over. "_Achtung! _How did you find yourself there? _Bist du in ordnung?_ "he added, startled into speaking German.

Poor Amy tried to manage a laugh, realizing how she must look; quickly, her hands went to her cheeks, wiping away renegade tears that were left behind, and by force of habit, her back stiffened. "I fear that Laurie…and Jo went to do something; they were here with me before, and said they would be back in a few minutes, so I thought I would be all right when the ladder slipped, but they are still gone and I must get down, for I feel rather dizzy, and—"

All of this was said rather rapidly and quite nervously, and Amy never knew how much he retained, for her brother-in-law was under her in minutes; and kicking the ladder aside, he extended his arms.

"You are right, they haf gone out. Just come down, Frau Amy; we haf no need for him; I will take you down softly."

Amy hesitated, but something in his face reassured her, and she lifted her skirts and took the necessary step, experiencing one terrifying moment of free-fall before Fredrich's arms were around her, slowing the momentum, lowering her to the floor.

Amy, ever mindful of propriety, thanked him and tried to step away immediately; but a sudden wave of dizziness hit her and she swayed. Fredrich's expression quickly turned to one of concern, and he took her arm, saying---

"Miss Amy, are you well?"

"I am, sir, but…pray, stay with me for a moment--- " and Amy inhaled, trying to regain her bearings, to take a deep breath, to steady herself. To her horror, she could feel the tears begin to prick at her eyelids again, and she turned her head away.

"Miss Amy—"

"I am fine, Mr. Bhaer, I just—I just…" her voice was trembling now, and she was perilously close to losing control—curse this pregnancy! Mr. Bhaer was now looking at her as if she had grown another head, and she…she….

She was crying, now.

The sobs were not audible, nor were they plenty; but her slender shoulders were heaving, and tears were running down her face. Fredrich didn't quite know what to do, but instinct made him draw her close, and so poor Amy found herself sobbing in the arms of her sister's husband, a man she barely knew. She was sick, tired, dirty, exhausted, and Laurie…

The humiliation was complete, she felt.

"I'm sorry," she hiccuped, struggling to compose herself; Fredrich's kind hand was on her head now, and the petting and warmth coming from his rather substantial frame filled something in her that had been aching for weeks. Her emotions had been high; and Laurie had been absent. When they were first married, it was easy for everyone to roll eyes heavenward and declare, 'Ah, Laurie and Jo--! They will never grow up—!" and excuse the little corner confidences, the late-night strolls, the romping that only seemed to increase now that Laurie had thrown his all into the Plumfield project, but…Amy needed him now. No art treasures, shopping or society teas that Laurie indulgently left her to 'amuse herself' with could fill the hollowness she was experiencing now.

Amy came back to herself when Fredrich's voice cut into her thoughts; it was deep as well as tender, and she knew in one grateful instant what Jo had seen in him.

"_Liebste _Amy, it cannot be as bad as this," he said reassuringly, producing a pocket-handkerchief akin to a tablecloth in size, and wiping her face himself, much as he would have done for little Daisy or Demi. "Art thou sick?" he added, retreating into that funny Quaker-speak he used at times.

She shook her head, lips trembling.

"Has someone hurt you?"

"No." Amy found her voice finally; it was weak, but there. She was shivering now; and Fredrich slid a large, reassuring arm round her shoulders. "I just—" she inhaled once before trying again. "I want my husband," she said, so quietly that he had to bend to hear the foolish little words. "Where is he?"

Fredrich's face darkened at this, and Amy did not miss it. "He and Jo went out some time ago; they haf not been back since, and I worry, for guests are arriving; but we shall do our best, and hope they haf not met with dis—" he paused, searching for the word. "Misfortune?"

Amy nodded and drew away, twisting her hands in her skirts, noticing for the first time that Fredrich was in evening dress. The thin black broadcloth and snowy white cuffs suited him well, and her critical eye saw no flaws tonight, except—

"Oh, I've wet your front!" she cried, dabbing at it. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. Bhaer—"

"Fredrich. And do not worry, it will not show." He suddenly sounded as tired as she did, and his eyes darted towards the door, despite himself. "Frau Amy, perhap it is too much to ask, but guests are arriving now, and someone must receive—"

Amy immediately understood, straightening up and wiping the last of the moisture from her eyes, folding the linen handkerchief into a neat square, and standing on her toes, reaching up to tuck it into the big man's pocket—it was still clean but damp; she had not blown her nose. "Of course," she said and cleared her throat—then reached behind her, untying the sash of the huge black pinafore she wore that had been covering the silvery-blue silk frock underneath. "You will give me a minute to wash my face, Mr. Bh-- Fredrich, and I will join you—"

He nodded, and some of the worry smoothed out his face, but the expression in his eyes was still grave. "Frau Amy," he said, pulling at the well-trimmed beard. "I--- I shall speak to Jo."

In that instant, Amy met his eyes and color rushed up into her face; he understood. Probably better than she did.

Amy nodded, not even attempting to deny anything; and she looked down at her feet, folding the thick black cotton apron into the smallest square she could manage. "I…I am with child, Mr. Bh—Fredrich," she blurted out, surprising herself.

Mr. Bhaer lifted a dark, craggy brow—he was surprised, but not in the least embarrassed to hear her news divulged so frankly; he was European, after all, and lacked most of the American Victorian puritanical views that would have rendered such a subject unspeakable. He congratulated her warmly, wondering at the sudden calm on her face; it was as if she had unearthed a great burden, and a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said softly; and then she smiled, a gentle smile, but one that gave him chills. "I don't quite know why I blurted it out so--- you're the first I've told. Even Laurie doesn't know yet; he's been quite…busy these past weeks, and haven't found the right time to tell him."

Fredrich was shocked, but he managed to hide it; after all, she was pregnant, and pregnant women had their whims. He said that he was indeed very glad for her, and would be glad to rejoice with the family when she told her husband; he would keep discretion, of course, Laurie would never know he knew first. He pressed her not to delay any longer, but to tell him the moment he arrived. "Such news cannot wait for busyness to be over. And I—I will talk to Jo."

When she lifted her chin to smile at him in agreement, he saw a glimmer of something in those soft blue depths that startled him, turned something in his stomach; and as she went to wash her face and rejoined him later, hand resting lightly on his arm, tilting her elegant blonde head, greeting guests with a refinement that complimented his austere academic manner, the disquiet remained. It was only later, when her husband and Jo returned, rather late, flushed, and laughing---

She shot him a secret smile, so slight that he might have imagined it, but so telling he could not ignore it.

This, he knew with a certainty now, would end nowhere good. He was willing enough, was old and tired and patient enough to suffer his wife's defection to a point; she loved him after all, was the mother of his children. But Amy March---

This would end nowhere good.


	2. Chapter 2

"Fredrich is going to have my head," Jo groaned.

"He'll do nothing of the sort," Laurie replied soothingly; but his lips were compressed together, taut with the concentration he was currently using to navigate their buggy through the crowded streets of downtown with as much speed and as little accident as possible. The current hour made that virtually impossible; it seemed that tonight of all nights, every resident of their small country town seemed duty bound to clog the streets in as obnoxious a fashion as possible.

"It's been two _hours, _Laurie. I was supposed to be dressing—" she reached into his pocket and extracted his watch—"forty minutes ago."

"Well, my dear fellow, it certainly wasn't my fault you decided you simple _had _to have my grandfather's Americana to display to-night," and Laurie risked taking his eyes off the road for a moment long enough to shoot a significant look at the basket lying at Jo's feet, in which a leather-bound first edition of _Pickwick _resided. "I know that your obsession with Dickens is great, my dear fellow, but _this—"_

"Quiet and watch the road," Jo retorted, poking him hard in the side and plucking little Rob from the back of the buggy, where he had threatened to tumble out on the cobblestones half-a-dozen times already. "I know this is madness; but I thought it a lovely item to have out on display—it's the opening of a school, after all. Stop laughing, you bad boy; I know I've gotten us into a scrape, but I fear Amy's wrath much more than Fredrich's," and Mrs. Jo's forehead smoothed out considerably as her eyes took on a wicked glint.

Laurie waved an airy hand, a movement that caused Old Mag to lurch violently to the right, nearly upsetting the buggy and its occupants; after a moment, they were at rights again. "Amy is an angel," Laurie said comfortably, leaning back and reclining on his tail-bone, sighing with more than a little relief when they exited the main road. "I can handle my wife."

"Oh, indeed?" Now that the house was in sight, and the road was calmer, Jo put Rob down with a sigh of relief, grateful she hadn't brought Ted along as well; that would have been far too much for her. As they approached the house, though, she winced--- carriages were pulling round the gate, and lights blazed in every window, courtesy of Amy's Grecian sconces.

"Heavens, they've started without us--! Teddy, pull round to the stables, we'll never live it down if we're seen, we'll have to cut across the fields—have they manured yet? By the gods, I'm ruined!"

This was all said in Jo's usual topsy-turvy way; she tumbled over the wheel and to the barnyard floor, Rob under one arm and the basket over the other, stumbled when she hit the ground, recovered and began to run.

"Josephine March—are you crazy?" Laurie hollered after her, trying to tie up the horse. "Old Mag—"

"_Leave_ the confounded horse!"

Laurie opened his mouth, closed it; and then he began to run as well, shrugging his shoulders once, and laughing as he did so. If the esteemed guests could only see the lady of the manor now, racing across a recently cow-pied field with a squalling baby under one arm and a basket in the other, tripping over her petticoats and letting out some very unladylike expressions….and now—

The deserters managed to sneak in through the kitchen entrance; and after tracking smelly mud in on Lottie's spotless floors, they tramped upstairs and to Jo's room, where her dress was waiting in high state of starch and clean collar, as well as a tiny black suit for Rob. Poor Jo was so flustered by the afternoon's events that she was half-way out of her bodice before Laurie, red-faced, managed to spit out a comment to stop her---

"Jo, I'm still---"

"Oh—you!" Stomping over to the wardrobe, Jo grabbed Rob's suit, then shoved both Laurie, suit and baby into the hall. "Talk to me!" she yelled through the door.

"Er…" thanking his lucky stars he was already dressed, Laurie surveyed the little boy in front of him and then began the Herculean task of deciding what end went in what when it came to a dress-suit for a child of three. "why are these trousers so confounded short, Jo? They don't cover his legs."

"They're short pants, my sweet idiot. And don't forget the waist-coat goes under the jacket," poor Jo called out over the rustling of her skirts. "the socks and garters next, and then---"

"Shoes. I can handle that," said Mr. Laurie, who then proceeded to put the child's knickers on backward, miss three buttons on the shirt, and burst two off waist-coat; regrettably, Mr. Rob did not take kindly to the clumsy handling, and his struggling did his costume more harm than good.

When Jo opened the door two minutes later, she took one look at Rob and began to laugh. "You'll have us disgraced, Teddy," she said, reaching for her son. She attempted to straighten his clothing, but he howled in protest—one rough handling, in combination with stiff dress clothes in a degree of cleanliness he was not accustomed to was enough of a bruising to the dignity of his childish soul for one evening.

"Oh---fine, stay that way! I shall blame you if people ask what attacked you, and not your bad uncle," and Jo frowned at Laurie, who was laughing heartily over the proceedings. "Come in, Teddy, and do stop that screeching; you'll have the entire party up here in moments. Take this rag and wipe your feet; Amy will know what you did otherwise."

Jo was laughing herself by the time they had retreated into the room; and the conspirators straightened themselves as best they could. Jo was dressed in a silver-grey that matched her eyes so vividly it seemed that they were cut of the same fabric; crimson roses adorned her auburn hair, which she was struggling to fasten in a low knot on her neck. After two tries, she growled and shook her head, pins flying everywhere.

"How I hate this! I should chop my hair off again, or wear two tails till I'm forty," she cried, seizing a hairbrush. "Why wasn't I a man?"

Laurie, who had finished cleaning his mud-spattered shoes and now was attending to his neck-tie, looked up; and a slight smile crept over his face, pleased to see his old friend looking so lovely. She was in rare form to-night; her sharp features were suffused with color, her eyes were bright, and the figure that had improved considerably from the weight she'd put on after Ted was shown to advantage in her new gown.

"Stop growling, Josephine, and I'll help you."

"You--!" Jo looked astonished.

"Don't scoff, my dear brother; I've often done Amy's; and really, watching you is pathetic. Sit down, my child."

Rolling her eyes at his tone, a desperate Jo actually did as she was told. "Just lope it up and stick some hairpins in" she instructed rather feebly; and her voice trailed off, for Laurie's hands were in her hair.

He took his time, fingers running through with a deliberateness that sent prickles up her spine; despite the fact that this was Laurie, this was incredibly intimate and they both knew it. Her hair, heavier and darker than it had been of yore, was no longer her only beauty, but undoubtedly her most outstanding one; Meg often said it was like satin. And here Laurie was, touching it in a way only her husband had in the past, dark eyes meeting hers in the mirror with an intensity that suddenly made her body go hot.

"Hurry, Teddy, we've got to get downstairs," Jo snapped, trying to diffuse the mood; his lips only curved up slightly. He said nothing, but he obeyed her; his fingers braided the hair nimbly, twisted it up, fastened it into place with the hairpins he handed her one by one. Jo gratefully sprang to her feet, relieved that it was over, realizing all at once how inappropriate this really was. Chaperoned by Rob or not, this _was _her private room.

"Thank you, Teddy—you've done so good a job that I won't mock you for your shockingly feminine fingers—at least not now. Come now, Rob, let's go and find your father," and heart hammering strangely, Jo scooped up her son and quitted the room, Laurie at her heels with a strange smile on his face.

xxxXXXXXxxx

"Oh, good heavens, they've started, we are finished! Smile, Teddy, smile," Jo ordered through clenched teeth as she and Laurie descended upon the great ballroom, which had been opened for the evening.

"Should we duck behind a curtain and laugh at everyone who goes by?" Laurie said with a chuckle, nodding and smiling at people in their path.

"Quiet, bad boy; my dress isn't burned to-day. It's best we look as unobtrusive as possible—oh, look, there's Fredrich and Amy!" and Jo was about to dash over to where her husband stood greeting guests with a pale but composed-looking Amy on his arm, but the band struck up; and instantly the floor around them was filled with moving couples, pairing for the opening waltz. Fredrich, who still hadn't seen Jo, looked down as Amy, patting her arm and saying something, looking concerned; she shook her blonde head, bit her lip and indicated the floor. In a moment, he'd steered her gravely into the crowd of whirling couples, and they were lost in a sea of fabric and waist-coats.

"Oh, bother," Jo muttered, trying to stand on her toes and see; she'd seen the worry in her husband's face.

"Never mind them, Jo, this is perfect. We'll dance once and swear we've been here all along," Laurie laughed, spinning her out and joining the dance with perfect time. "It's been far too long since I danced with you; was last at your wedding, I think."

"You're right," Jo acknowledged with a smile; "and I was far too nervous that day to be of any use to anyone as a partner."

"True. My feet still bear the marks."

Jo rapped him with her fan, but she was laughing—and finally relaxed as Laurie steered her round the floor effortlessly. He was a wonderful dancer, inventive, moved through the steps with zest and perfect time—and she kept up with him just as well as they had as teens, enjoying the delightful pastime for what it should be.

The waltz somehow segued into a delicious polka-redowa; and it was much later than Jo had planned before they broke apart and began to search for their respective spouses. Fredrich and Amy seemed to have disappeared without a trace; inquiries as to their whereabouts were met with vague answers. After ten minutes of looking, they finally stumbled across them, in a tiny alcove adjacent to the big room.

Their appearance was met with startled exclamations from Laurie and Jo; for when they walked in on them, they saw Amy seated on a divan in a puddle of silk and lace, breathing heavily, looking very ill. Fredrich was on one knee beside her, rubbing her hands, looking up at her with concern on his craggy face. When he saw Laurie and Jo, he started; and when Amy saw them she did as well, springing to her feet.

"Amy, are you well?" cried Jo.

"I'm fine—" but even as she said it, Amy swayed heavily; as her husband and sister hurried over in time to help Fredrich support her, lift her back on the divan. "I'm…fine," she repeated, shrinking away from them but clinging to Fredrich for a moment, eyes on the floor; she couldn't look at them, it seemed. "Just a bit tired."

"Miz Amy has taken ill," Fredrich said flatly, eyes fixed on the prone figure on the couch. "I think, Mr. Lawrence, it would be best if you attended to your wife, unless of course, you haf some other obligation."

Jo registered her husband's cold tone with some shock; then she saw his and Amy's meet, saw Amy's dart away. Her face had gone even paler, and charcoal-colored smudges stood out under her eyes; had her sister only started looking this bad tonight, or had she been sick, and no one had known? "Amy, dearest?" she said softly, reached down and touched her sister's forehead. It was cool as it was pale.

Amy looked up at her, biting her lip; she saw tears shimmering in the blue eyes. "I'm fine, Jo. I just…" her voice was small. "Would you hate me very much if I went upstairs to rest for a bit? I won't go home just yet, but I fear I overtaxed myself."

"Of course; I'll put you in my room. Laurie?" she looked at him, and he immediately went over, reached for his wife. Amy flinched, then pulled away.

"Thank you…dear. I can do it," and Amy struggled to her feet, lifted her chin; she steadied herself for a full moment, then began walking with unsteady steps towards the exit. Laurie was close at her heels, and after a moment was allowed to place a steadying hand on her lower back.

They were gone in a few moments; and Jo turned to see her husband, who was picking up Amy's reticule, fan and dance-card with deliberate slowness. He no longer looked angry; only tired and very, very old.

"Where were you, Jo?"

Jo ran into a topsy-turvy explanation of the evening's events as her husband's gaze fastened on her without expression; this made her face go scarlet, though she could not own why.

And when her husband merely took one long look at her, then turned and left in the direction Amy and Laurie had gone in, she felt even worse, though she could not own why.


End file.
